


Dry Spell

by also_bughead



Category: Archie Comics, Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: And Jughead is thinking about milkshakes, Betty is incredibly sexually frustrated, Bughead Smut, F/M, Fingering, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 13:58:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/also_bughead/pseuds/also_bughead
Summary: In which Betty finally gets Jughead to relieve her sexual frustration right in the middle of the Blue & Gold.





	Dry Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Good old fashioned short smut show. What else is new? I'm a few episodes behind, and now that season three is on Netflix and I'm done with school for the year, I plan to catch up, but as far as I know, this is canon compliant. As always, apologies in advance for any grammatical errors, I edit myself.

Betty shifts in her desk at the Blue and Gold, suddenly keenly aware of Jughead’s jawline and the way his lips purse ever so slightly as he concentrates on whatever’s on his laptop screen. She swallows down against the lump in her throat, turning her focus back to her practice math problems. The ACTs are next week and she really should be studying but she can’t concentrate, not with him sitting just a few feet away. She was humming with arousal, and Jughead hadn’t even so much as looked at her in a suggestive way. 

They’d been going through a rather dry spell. Well, for them, at least. 

Comparatively to the whole of their relationship, Betty and Jughead had only been physically intimate for a short time, but they were young and in love. For the first month after they slept together, they couldn’t get enough. Their desire was ravenous. Whenever they were alone, even if only for a few moments, their hands and mouths would run with a mind of their own, clothes left on the floor of whichever bedroom, or sometimes on the cement floor of the bunker in the woods. 

But recently, between everything that had seemed to happen one right after the other, what with the investigating the Gargoyle King and the shady antics of The Farm in tandem, sex wasn’t exactly at the top of the priorities list. 

It had been a while. 

To be precise, two weeks and three days. Not that Betty was counting. 

Before Jughead, Betty had never considered herself a very sexual person. Sure, like any other teenager, there’d been times, often dictated by what time of the month it was, where she’d had bouts of good old fashioned hormonal arousal. But it was always easily resolved with about ten-to-fifteen minutes of some good music playing in her earbuds, wandering fingers and soft sighs muffled by her floral pillow. Quiet, easy, efficient.

But since being with Jughead, she couldn’t…..well she couldn’t really come by herself anymore. Everytime she tried to masturbate, her thoughts would always wander to him, and suddenly her soft, slender fingers weren’t enough compared to his calloused strong ones, or his tongue, or him inside her, and it only left her feeling more frustrated than before. 

She groans, and his eyes flick up to meet hers. “Everything okay, Betty?”

She nods, getting up and stretching before making her way over to where he’s sitting, looking over his shoulder at the screen. It’s more instances of strange disappearances in the area and Reddit pages about local G&G campaigns, looking for correlations. 

“Any luck?” she asks, a hand falling to rest casually on his upper back. 

“Nada,” he says, pushing back and rubbing his eyes. “I think I’ve been staring at this screen too long. Wanna go to Pop’s? Milkshake’s on m- _ mph. _ ”

He doesn’t finish his sentence before her mouth lands on his, swallowing his words with a hungry kiss. Without breaking, he turns in the swivel chair he’s sitting on and she climbs into his lap, so she’s straddling his thighs. His hands fall to the small of her back, leaning forward, bowing her into the kiss as he deepens it, slipping his tongue through her parted lips. She pushes back, teeth nipping at his as she tugs at his inky locks before moving her hands to his shoulders, pressing him into the back of his chair as her fingers slip under the leather of his jacket. He slides his up the tops of her thighs where her pencil skirt has ridden up. When he gets up to where her lacy black panties are exposed, he ghosts his thumb over her slit through the material, and she shudders.

“Jug,” she arches into his touch, and he begins to place kisses and nips along the column of her throat. “Jug, please…” she grinds into him. “Want you.”

“Here?” he asks, an eyebrow arching as he looks at her, but he moves his thumb more intentionally now, rubbing slow circles around her clit over the lace.

“God, yes,” she breathes. “I want you, right here, right now.” 

“Then I’m yours,” he says, and she smiles at him, a wicked gleam in her eye as she tugs on his hair again, harder, yanking his head back so that his neck is exposed. He chuckles at her enthusiasm and she leans in close, fist still closed around his locks, muttering “Quiet, Jones,” her throat thick with a familiar, almost violent kind of need that she channels only into him, before attacking his throat with her mouth. She spends some time placing kisses and bites, and once she’s satisfied with the hickey she’s left just above his collarbone, she brings her lips back to his, and he slips his hand into the lace, fingers finding their way right where she needs them.

Normally she wouldn’t let him touch her just yet, she’d tease him until he was just as needy as she was, but it’s been too long, and she’s too frantic. Instead she mewls as she rocks her hips into his touch, his calloused fingers rubbing against her clit, having mastered just the exact pressure and speed she needs, and by the time his fingers find their way inside, curling inward, she’s panting, teeth sinking into the leather on his shoulder to keep from crying out too loud. 

She’s chanting his name and curses and Jughead knows he has her where he wants her. “Go ahead, Betts, come for me,” and she does, her walls clenching around his fingers as she rides out her orgasm against him. 

“Oh my god, Juggie,” she moans, her lips finding their way back to his again, this time moving lazily against his, tired from the orgasm she so desperately craved. She steps away, briefly, only to shimmy out of her panties. He watches her with dark eyes, admiring the way her ponytail is disheveled, her skirt bunched around her waist and her blouse undone to reveal her cleavage spilling over a pink polka dot bra he’s seen many times before. She shakes her hair free of it’s elastic before straddling him again, this time resting lower on his thighs, closer to where his knees are bent. “We should keep most of our clothes on, she says as she begins to palm him through jeans, “just in case someone walks in.” 

He nods in in agreement and as she unbuckles his belt, undoing the button and pulling his almost painfully hard erection. She runs her hand across her tongue, wetting it with her saliva before closing it around his cock, pumping a few times. 

“Nice and hard for me?” she asks, a seductive smirk threatening at her lips.

“You’re always so nice and wet for me,” he quips, squeezing her thigh. “Least I can do is return the favor.”

“Protection?” she asks, and he reaches into his pocket, producing a square packet. She chuckles darkly as the rolls the condom onto his erection. “Good boy.”

He holds himself steady at her entrance and she sinks down onto him, slowly as her eager slickness will allow, and relishes in the way he breathes her name, low and raspy. The sounds he makes, she decides, is probably her favorite part of sex, perhaps even over the sensation of him inside her. The only competition is maybe his mouth, when it’s hot and open, buried between her thighs. 

“Jesus Christ,  _ Betty _ ,” he moans headily and she slips her hands up his t-shirt (his Serpents jacket long discarded) and braces her herself against his the muscles of his chest as she moves her hips up and down, setting the moderately paced but hard rhythm she knows he likes best. 

“You feel so good, Jughead,” he sighs. “It’s been too long.”

_ “Way too long,” _ he echoes, dipping his head down to her chest where’s he’s pulled one of her peaked nipples out of her bra. His lips close around it and she mewls, back arching, pressing her chest into his mouth. He begins thrusting his hips up to meet hers, a little bit rougher than she was being with him, and she cries out almost a little too loudly. He grabs the ends of her hair and pulls harshly, earning a squeak from Betty. Something in the air shifts, and Betty knows exactly what’s coming, her eyes dark with lust as she grins at him. 

He pulls himself out of her, standing both of them up and yanking her blouse from her shoulders before whipping her around harshly, and bending her over the desk he was just working on. He pushes himself back inside her roughly, but she’s so wet that he slips right in. He pulls himself out about halfway before ramming himself back in, and she yelps. He leans forward, wrapping a hand around to cover her mouth, squeezing against her cheeks and she smiles into his hand. 

She feels his lips as he leaves soft kisses on the back of her neck and in her hair, murmuring “I love you’s” against her skin. It’s a stark contrast to his deep and rough thrusts into her, and it’s a perfect balance between  _ fucking  _ and  _ making love _ that only Jughead seems to pull off. When he feels her start to clench around him, he flips her over again, so her back is resting against the oak wood, and drops a hand down to where they are joined, rubbing harshly over her oversensitized and swollen clit, and it only takes a minute or two until she’s coming, her walls clenching around him, varied curses falling from her lips.

Jughead watches her intently as she rides out her orgasm, the way her face contorts in ways that would almost being ugly if they weren’t so fucking hot. He notices the reddish-pink flush that spreads from her cheeks down to the valley of her breasts, which bounce ever so slightly as he thrusts into her. It doesn’t take long for him to topple over the edge with her at the sight, and when he finishes, he places a long, sweet kiss against her lips, and sits her up, pulling her into his embrace. 

Betty can’t imagine how sex was ever satisfying before she discovered how much she liked the thrill of power exchange. They were so good together too; they both knew exactly when to submit, when to dominate, how much to give and when to take, both within and outside of the sexual aspects of their relationship. She thinks back to the first couple of times they’d had sex before that fateful night at the Lodges’ cabin when she “punished” him for kissing Veronica. 

There weren’t many, maybe four or five separate occasions that were more or less vanilla. There were awkward fumbles as they tried to figure out the most comfortable way to go about penetration for Betty, and it wasn’t until the third time that Jughead was able to actually get her off, but that was mostly the fault of her own nerves. They weren’t exactly mind-blowing sexual rendezvous, but they were special in their own right. And somehow, when Jughead looks at her with that adorably sleepy post-sex smile, she still gets a million butterflies in her stomach like it’s the first time. 

“I love you,” she tells him.

“I love you, too,” he replies, fingers tracing light circles against her back. 

After a few moments of silence, he pulls away to dispose of the condom and on the way back hands her her blouse, which she gladly accepts, putting it on and doing up the buttons. 

“So…” she says, a playful grin ghosting her lips as she pulls her underwear back on. “You said something about a milkshake?”

 


End file.
